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slam poetry

el aire es como una mariposa
el prado se arrastraba
éstos sean
pero alas, sueños justos
de la canción y del sueño para ido siempre
mire hacia fuera sobre las estrellas, mi amor
oscuro-eyed
antes del santo de bronce solemne
porqué son las cosas que no tienen ninguna muerte
el sentarse en su eje de balancín que espera su té
a lo largo de una orilla

 



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